Blood Loss

by Kerena Swan

  ‘I might if you helped a bit more,’ I say, outwardly calm despite the surge of anger that burns my gut.

  ‘I do what I can.’ Lucy glances at Ellis who nods.

  ‘You’re both doing your best,’ Mum says, ‘and I don’t have the energy to do all the things I used to do.’

  ‘Grace,’ Lucy sounds like she’s talking to one of her minions at work, ‘I think it’s important you tell us what you’re doing or planning to do to check whether we approve of it.’

  Of course she does. Anything to control the situation.

  ‘Just do what’s needed, Grace, and let me know each week how many hours you’ve done,’ Mum says. ‘I trust you and I’ve got savings. Jenna, I’m sure you need some help and you can give Grace some guidance on what you’d like her to do.’

  I nod.

  ‘Jenna can’t organise herself let alone anyone else.’ Lucy is indignant.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Mum says.

  I’m stunned. Mum has taken the control of the situation away from Lucy and handed it to me. Ellis reaches a hand over and pats Lucy’s hand. She pulls it away and folds her arms. When I see Lucy’s lips purse tight and a frown pucker between her eyes I have to contain a triumphant grin. Blimey, she looks really pissed off!

  Chapter 34

  The Previous March | DI Paton

  Paton approached the motorway exit for Manchester and flicked on his indicator but before he joined the slip road he stared along the carriageway. From Mitchell’s investigations the third silver Fiesta hadn’t left the M6 at this point but it had stopped at the Knutsford service station. Sadly, the cameras hadn’t been able to pick out the driver’s face but from the size of the figure it was most likely a woman.

  The Fiesta had joined the M6 again but had got off at a junction a few miles further on. After that it disappeared so where did it go? The ANPR cameras didn’t show the Fiesta going any further on the major A roads or motorways. Did she drive all the way to London via small country roads? That would be too difficult. So, did she swap cars or number plates and drive to one of the major airports? Or did she pick up another road and drive south to Dover and through the tunnel to France? Was she now hiding abroad in a sun-drenched villa or waitressing in a busy holiday resort? The possibilities were endless and the task of finding her overwhelming.

  Following the robotic voice of the Sat-Nav, Paton made his way towards the centre of Manchester. There were six cafés in the Bramwells chain and the owner travelled from one to the other as the need arose. Today he was at the Castlefield branch. One of the major players in the business wanted to buy the owner out so he must be doing well.

  Twenty minutes later, Paton stopped at a red light and looked around. According to the Sat-Nav he had reached his destination. The café must be here somewhere. He craned his neck to look behind him and saw the distinctive green and gold façade of Bramwells across the road. He checked the time. Perfect. He’d have a spot of lunch while he was in there – after asking the owner a few questions.

  It took a frustrating ten minutes of circling around side streets to find a parking space before he decided he had no choice but to pay an exorbitant price up-front in a private multi-storey car park. It was Pay and Display, with options for up to an hour or three hours. Paton chose a three-hour ticket to allow time for his lunch. The boss wouldn’t be happy with the cost but a man had to eat.

  The café smelled of warm, vanilla pastries and Paton’s stomach growled in anticipation. He couldn’t think about food until he’d interviewed the owner, though. The tables were full and animated conversations competed with a 90’s song from the sound system. Waitresses in white blouses and long black aprons shimmied and swayed between tables like dancers, holding plates of food aloft with smiles pinned on their faces. The atmosphere was vibrant and welcoming, and for a moment Paton wished he were just meeting a friend for lunch instead of investigating a brutal murder.

  Approaching the counter, he introduced himself to a young man with neat, dark hair and a clean-shaven face who was changing the paper receipt roll on the till.

  ‘Is Mr Bramwell here?’ Paton asked. ‘I have an appointment with him.’

  ‘I’m Oliver Bramwell. Claire, can you cover the counter, please?’

  Paton hid his surprise. He’d been expecting a highly successful business owner to be older. A waitress approached and Mr. Bramwell beckoned Paton to the back room. After a longing look at the custard slices Paton followed and outlined his reasons for being there.

  ‘I understand you met with Robert Nash to discuss business.’

  Bramwell nodded. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead. He was a decent guy. He didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘Did he mention meeting anyone else? A woman, possibly?’

  ‘I only saw him a few times and he was always alone. We did meet up twice at the Salford café though, and he didn’t leave when I did. Said he was waiting for someone. You could go there and speak to the waitresses.’

  Despite his growing hunger and the unused three-hour parking ticket, Paton decided to go straight to Salford. The Castlefield café was too busy and he didn’t want to waste time. He thought he could wait a bit longer to eat, but after sitting in traffic for fifteen minutes and spending another ten trying to park Paton was so hungry he could happily eat week-old leftovers.

  He decided to order lunch first and try to build rapport with the waitress before asking if she knew anything. At least this café was quieter. He sat near the window and requested a ham and cheese toastie and the longed-for custard slice. The waitress was young, with round cheeks and an easy smile, and he had no trouble striking up a conversation with her. ‘This cake is delicious. I might have to find a hotel nearby so I can come back tomorrow for another one,’ he joked.

  She laughed. ‘Yummy, aren’t they?’

  ‘Is this the only place that sells them?’ he asked, already knowing the answer. ‘I might get some for the team. It’s my turn to buy cakes.’

  ‘There are six other Bramwell cafés across Manchester and they all have the same cakes so you can buy them elsewhere. For now, anyway,’ she added darkly.

  ‘For now?’

  ‘The owner is selling out.’ She shifted uncomfortably, clearly regretting her indiscretion.

  ‘Shame. Will you keep your job?’

  ‘I think so. I just hope the new owners are good to work for.’ She gazed out of the window for a moment then pulled her attention back into the room. She lowered her voice. ‘Although, the last I heard the deal had come to a standstill.’

  Paton was about to ask if she knew why when another customer called for his bill. She was back within minutes and Paton ordered a coffee. He put the photo of Robert Nash on the table and showed her his police ID badge. She looked startled. ‘Have you ever seen this gentleman in here?’ Paton asked.

  She picked up the photo and stared at it. ‘Has he done something wrong?’

  ‘We’re just trying to trace someone he may have met.’

  ‘He came in a couple of times to see the boss. I remember because he tripped over his bag and knocked a woman’s coffee over her magazine.’ She giggled. ‘He asked me to make her another coffee, dropped a five pound note on the table and ran out of the door.’

  Paton’s face fell but she smiled. ‘I thought he couldn’t face the embarrassment but he was back within five minutes with another magazine for her. They got chatting and a few days later met here again. So romantic.’ She sighed and rubbed her naked ring finger. ‘I wouldn’t mind him throwing coffee over my table. He’s very handsome.’

  Not anymore. ‘Would you be able to describe the woman he met?’ Paton asked.

  ‘Probably.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘To be honest I was a bit envious. She was skinny – slim, I suppose is the right word – and blonde with lovely green eyes and clear skin.’ She paused. ‘Her clothes were pretty ordinary though. Why do you need to know this?’

  ‘Could you come to the police station and do an E-Fit
picture? We need to trace this woman in relation to a suspected crime.’

  The waitress’s eyes widened with interest and her voice raised a pitch. ‘Wow. What’s she done? She looked like she wouldn’t even steal pick-n-mix sweets.’

  ‘I can’t tell you that. The E-Fit may take some time. When do you finish work? I also need to record a statement from you.’

  She checked her watch and glanced around the café. ‘I’ll see if I can get away early as it’s fairly quiet now. How exciting!’ She clasped her hands together. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’

  Chapter 35

  March | Sarah

  Derek’s scowl is chased away by a beaming smile when he sees me on his doorstep.

  ‘Can I be cheeky and use your computer again? I need to research something and the library is shut.’

  ‘Be as cheeky as you like.’

  Derek winks at me and I suppress a shudder of revulsion. He opens the door but doesn’t leave a big enough gap so I have to squeeze past him. My nose tingles from the smell of sweat and engine oil emanating from his work clothes.

  The kitchen door isn’t latched properly and Rex gambols down the hall and jumps up to put his paws on my shoulders. I pull back as a wet tongue flaps towards my cheek. Bloody dog. Why can’t Derek teach him to behave? God, I hate coming round here. As soon as I can afford it I’m getting myself a laptop.

  ‘He’s pleased to see you too,’ Derek laughs. ‘Down, Rex. He hasn’t had his walk yet. I’ve been too busy.’

  ‘I can walk him later as a thank you for using the computer.’ At least that will stop Derek asking for any other payment.

  I sit in front of the screen and scrawl through numerous website ads, trying to find a resource that will give me details of births at the hospital where I was born. Rex is lying on my feet and Derek is watching me and glancing at the screen but I ignore them both. Derek doesn’t appear to be busy so I don’t know why he can’t take his smelly dog out for a walk now. I change the Google search a few times then see an advert offering a free view of birth records in selected towns with no sign-up required. I click on the website and see that they’re asking for volunteers to help enter data and keep it as a free service. I tick boxes to say I’m searching for birth records within a certain three-month window. I don’t have a surname but there can’t be many babies called Jenna born within that time frame in Milton Keynes, especially as the town itself was in its infancy.

  It only takes a couple of minutes for the result to pop up. Jenna Winterbourne born between Sept and Dec 1995. I suck my breath in and hold it. Oh my God. This is the one. This is me! I should be Jenna Winterbourne – not Sarah fucking Butcher. Two babies in the same incubator, their ID bracelets removed by an incompetent student and the wrong infants handed back to the mothers. I want to scream the news to the world. I want to research baby swaps to see if this has happened to anyone else but I need to be alone. I feel quite faint.

  ‘Are you all right, Sarah? You’ve gone white.’ Derek is peering into my face and I rear back. His breath smells worse than the dog’s. ‘What’s that you’re looking at?’ He studies the screen so I close it down.

  ‘Mum wanted to trace an old friend and I’ve found her. I need to go now.’ I jump to my feet, sending the chair toppling over behind me. ‘Sorry.’ I run for the door.

  ‘What about walking Rex?’

  ‘I’ll call back later. I need to speak to Mum first.’

  ‘Winterbourne. Yes, that’s it. Jenna Winterbourne – what a lovely name. But how did you find it?’ Mum looks puzzled.

  ‘I found a website that offers free information about births in named towns within a timeframe.’

  Mum gets up from the sofa and goes to the kitchen. I follow her and watch as she opens the fridge and pulls out the cheese. Her hands are shaking. I know she isn’t my mum now but I still think of her in that way. It’s too ingrained in me to let go of.

  ‘Do you want a sandwich?’ she asks.

  ‘I want to talk about Jenna Winterbourne.’

  Mum gets a loaf of cut bread from the bread bin and reaches for the butter. She’s avoiding eye contact and her lips are pursed. In fact, she looks worried sick. Did she know something was amiss when she was handed back the wrong baby? Has something happened since then to make her realise? Oh my God!

  ‘You knew, didn’t you?’ My voice is low but my anger must be obvious.

  ‘Knew what?’ Mum licks her lips and reaches for the glass of vodka which is always to hand.

  I pull her round to face me but her eyes slide away from my accusing gaze. ‘That there was a mix-up in the maternity unit and you took home the wrong baby.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. I’d have remembered what my own baby looked like. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘Two babies, one incubator and no ID bracelets. No matching DNA. Work it out, woman! Or are you really that thick?’

  I’m shouting now. I want to slap her, shake her, make her realise what she’s allowed to happen. My whole life has been miserable because of this. I’ve been cheated out of happiness.

  Mum splutters a denial and I clasp my hands together to stop myself lashing out at her, then run to the kitchen to grab my car keys and purse. I slam the door as I leave. I toy with the idea of telling Mark what I’ve discovered – he’s probably got a computer at home where I can research this further – but decide against it. I don’t want to share this with him yet as he’ll ask loads of questions that I can’t answer, and our relationship is too new. I’ll find an internet café instead. There must be one around here somewhere.

  I’m going to find you, Jenna Winterbourne. You’ve stolen my life.

  Chapter 36

  The Following September | Jenna

  I’m sorry, Jenna,’ Lucy tells me. ‘I feel too ill and I don’t want to pass my germs onto Mum. The last thing she needs is a heavy cold.’

  She does sound bunged up but anyone can fake a cold over the phone.

  ‘It might be hay fever,’ I say hopefully. She knows how long I’ve been planning to do this fun run with Nisha.

  ‘I know the difference,’ Lucy says with a sniff. ‘Maybe Grace will keep Mum company instead. I’ll call her now and ring you back.’

  ‘No. We can’t keep messing Grace around. I’ll call Nisha and cancel the run.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. You need a break. It’ll do you good to get out. I’ll call you back.’

  I’m surprised at Lucy’s sudden concern for my well-being and didn’t think she was all that impressed when I told her about the charity run. I don’t believe she is that ill but at least she’s trying to arrange alternative help.

  Mum might be all right alone for a few hours but I don’t want to risk it. l think of how frail she’s becoming already and shudder. It’s been, what, five weeks since her diagnosis? I can’t actually remember when she last had breakfast and increasingly she isn’t even getting up for lunch. I cringe as I remember how she only just made it to the bathroom in time earlier this morning. She’s so weak and wobbly when she first gets up. I might need to organise a commode.

  While I wait for Lucy’s call I go to my bedroom where my costume hangs on the wardrobe door. It’s taken me ages to make it. Nisha and I have planned to go as sea nymphs and we’re wearing blue and green base layers covered with netting, tulle and seashells. I stroke a silk ribbon and run my finger around the shiny pink inside of a shell. It’s so beautiful and for a moment I feel a pang of longing to be burying my bare toes into white coral sand and staring at an aquamarine sea. I can’t think about travelling now, though. My life is all about Mum. Even this fun run is in aid of cancer research. It won’t help Mum but it might aid medical breakthroughs for future sufferers.

  I’ve added streamers of green crepe paper to my dreadlocks to look like seaweed and tied in more seashells. They clatter together as I put my hair over my shoulder. I’m itching to put the costume on to complete the look. Come on Lucy. I snatch the phone up on the first ring.

&
nbsp; ‘Grace will be there in an hour. She can only stay until one, though, so you’ll need to get back.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  Nisha won’t mind that I won’t be able to go for a drink with her after the run. I thank Lucy and hang up then check the time. The run starts at eleven and Grace won’t be here until ten. That’s cutting it fine. I don’t want to miss the warm-up session. I haven’t done any training for this and I’ll probably suffer tomorrow.

  I creep into Mum’s bedroom and listen. Her breathing is slow and even, and her eyes are closed. I check she has fresh water by her bed then tip-toe out again and return to my room to put my costume on. I can’t resist twirling in the mirror.

  ‘Wow! Don’t you look fantastic? Turn around, let’s see the back.’ Grace’s enthusiasm lifts my spirits and I beam at her.

  ‘Your hair is amazing. So clever.’

  ‘Thanks for stepping in today, Grace, and getting here so quickly.’

  ‘No worries. Lucy sounded rough, poor girl. What time does the race start?’

  ‘In an hour. I’m leaving now to pick Nisha up. I’ll be back by one.’

  The roads approaching Willen Lake are heaving and the car park is almost full. I squint as bright sunshine flashes off wing mirrors and windows. I should have brought my sunglasses. A constant stream of taxis and cars disgorges people in bright and ludicrous costumes, adding to the carnival atmosphere. I’m already warm and I feel a pang of sympathy for the giant gorilla and furry rabbit. Through my open window I hear music playing in the distance and I feel a rush of excitement.

  ‘Perhaps we should have dressed like that to raise awareness of animal rights,’ Nisha suggests, pointing to the gorilla.

  ‘Sod off! I’m going to struggle as it is.’

  I manoeuvre my little car into a tight space at the far end of the car park and we join the throng of people emerging from the redway footpath network, hurrying towards the entrance. The path is full and the cars and taxis pass within inches of the crowd as they drop people off. A local celebrity on the tannoy system tells people to gather for the warm-up. Runners in tutus, wigs and charity T-shirts pick up pace as the crowds around them surge forward. There must be thousands of people here.